Not Bloodbath Night
by OzGeek
Summary: The story of what didn't happen the night Abby stayed over at McGee's in Bloodbath. A companion piece to Bloodbath Night modified to include more humour and a sex scene. Defintely McAbby. Downgraded sex scene to comply with ratings.


_This story has been slightly modified to comply with ratings standards. See my profile for a link to the original version. This is what did** NOT** happen during Bloodbath._

* * *

"Are you alright?" he asked, searching her eyes. The toothbrush held in his hand almost forgotten.

"Yeah," she said relived. She plucked the toothbrush from his upturned fingers. "I am now. I thought you were never going to get back."

McGee looked back towards the window Michael had used for his escape. "I thought I shut that," he muttered to himself striding across the bedroom to slam it closed.

"Oh, you did," Abby assured him as she followed.

"So how did he get in?" Even as the words tumbled from his mouth, he knew the answer.

"He knocked."

McGee stood perfectly still, closed his eyes and replayed the words a couple of times in his head to make sure he had heard correctly.

"He…knocked?" he repeated for confirmation.

"Yeah."

He turned and stamped his foot at her in frustration. "What did I tell you?"

"Well," she countered. "I thought it was you. If you hadn't done the whole 'it's the wolf' thing with me, it might never have happened. It's your fault really."

He stared at her incredulously, shook his head to clear it and stared at her again. This was just pure, unadulterated Abby logic.

"You know where I should stick that toothbrush?" he threatened.

"Ohhh," she smiled wickedly. "If I'd know that, I would have brought the battery powered one."

He gave her a narrow-eyed stare for a moment and stomped off through the apartment to the front door to rehang his coat. Abby followed at his heels.

"Gibbs is going to come down on me so hard," he muttered to himself.

"What a co-incidence," said Abby playfully. "I was thinking something along those lines myself."

McGee shot her an exasperated look. Could this girl not take anything seriously?

He turned and surveyed the room. Not too bad: just a few papers on the ground. His interest was attracted to a red box on the kitchen floor. The box had been sitting on his kitchen bench for more than a year now to the point where it had become almost invisible. It was now lying upturned with its contents scattered haphazardly about it. Sighing, he moved to pick up the box and it was then he noticed it: his beloved typewriter was lying on the floor, face down, hard up against the kitchen cupboards.

"What the hell did you do to my typewriter?" he demanded.

"I tried to hit him," she defended.

"Oh come on!" he said incredulously. "What was the hit rate on that? The workbench is full of more viable weapons. What about the soldering iron, even the paper roller." He held up the roller he had removed from the typewriter the night before to demonstrate. "You could have used it to hit him over then head."

He paused to take a breath, then resumed pacing around the room hitting the paper roller against his hand as he spoke. "How come you could take Chip down with nothing but duct tape and a Caf-Pow and yet this light-weight required you to sacrifice the life of my typewriter? I know you never liked it but I inherited it from my father."

"I thought you hated your father."

"I did, that's why I liked it: it reminds me that he's dead."

"Well, it will remind you even more now," she noted with a wide smile picking up the shattered remains.

He shot her a dirty look and took the machine rather forcefully from her hands. "Why can't you keep your hands off my stuff?" he warned.

"You see that was our problem, McGee," she started in on the domestic argument. "I always came second to your stuff. You used to like that computer," she waved her hand in the direction of his computer, "better than me".

"That's crazy," he countered. "I didn't even have that computer then."

He paused to reminisce over his old computer. "That other one was so far ahead of its time though…" he stared off into space for a moment, savouring the experience.

"McGee!"

"What?" he whined as she broke his train of thought. "I suppose you would have liked me to dedicate a little shrine to you like stalker boy?"

"It would be a nice start," she shot back angrily. "Something tasteful in black, there's plenty of space on the writing desk."

He blessed her with a dirty look and pushed past to go for the bathroom.

"Oh, no you don't!" she grabbed him and used his body to slingshot herself past him.

"Ladies first," she sang as she sailed by.

He sighed at her retreating back and turned his attention to the computer game she had left running: The Godfather. He flicked on the screen and was unimpressed to find he was the 'Lucky winner' of many online competitions. He tried to close them all, but he knew in his heart that was a futile activity. He let out a frustrated whine. It was bad enough when Abby downloaded stuff onto his computer but she could at least replace the defences when she was done.

He killed the game and tried to hunt the offending pop-up process. The computer box gave an ominous 'snap' and the screen went blank. An acrid pillar of smoke curled its way up from the tower. McGee tore his eyes away from the sight and bashed his head on the desk a few times to accumulate some decent pain. It took his mind off killing Abby.

He turned off the power and waited for a minute for it to start up again. It tried valiantly to get its act together but in the end it required a hard reset to get everything in order. He let out a relieved sigh as the computer sprang back to life and then quickly turned it all off before Abby used her computer senses to detect it was ready for use again. He headed for the bedroom vowing she would never touch that computer again.

Abby was just doing up his blue J-Lo scented shirt when he strode past to the bathroom without even a glance. "McG…" she started. He shut the door. He couldn't face her right now.

He emerged a few minutes later, a little calmer to find her standing by the bed with all the sheets pulled down. Her hands were stapled to her hips. "What's the deal, McHuffy?"

He looked at her beautiful slim form and completely forgot what he was mad at her about. "Um, ur, you , ah fried my motherboard," he was almost apologetic, "again."

"Maybe I can make it up to you," there was a sly glint in her eyes as she started undoing the buttons one by one.

McGee panicked. "Gibbs would kill me."

Despite his reluctance, he could not drag his eyes away from her fingers as they slowly slid each button out seductively.

"He'll never know…," she teased.

"He's like Santa Claus," he reminded her. One more button.

"More so next season," she said, peeling the shirt back slowly. "Wait for the beard".

McGee's breath caught in his throat as he realised she was no longer wearing the skeleton top underneath the shirt. Tantalising pieces of tattoo art were slowly revealing themselves. Parts of his anatomy were readying themselves for action. He swallowed hard, and licked his lips in anticipation.

"Gibbs is going to kill me," his voice wavered uncertainly.

"You're dead anyway," she assured him slinking over. "Think of it as a condemned man's final wish. Besides, you still owe me some tying up."

His worried look dissolved as she slid her cool hands up inside his T-shirt and brought it up over his head on one swift expert move. McGee's eyes scanned over the lines of her tattoos, they were like old familiar friends.

"Hmm, McGee," Abby said approvingly unzipping his fly which was straining at the increased pressure. "Diesel Jeans: I'm impressed. Not enough to let you keep them on, though. Or the trendy green sneakers."

It was almost as if he was in a dream. He wanted to take her so much but he wanted to live. Gibbs' gut sensors would probably be tingling about now and he expected a phone call any second. She was done. They were both naked. They were in his bedroom and about to commit a mortal sin.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered urgently.

"Are you?" she said playfully lowering her mouth onto him.

"Oh yes…," he affirmed and his eyes rolled up slightly as he closed his eyelids.

The rest was a blur of hot, sweaty bodies and much groaning and panting. Then it was over and he toppled off her to crash on the bed next. He could feel his brain start the shutdown procedure for the night the moment his head hit the pillow and he embraced it. The world hovered distantly on a fuzzy horizon. If the stalker came back that instant, Abby would be history.

She snuggled up to his side. "You never disappoint," she whispered.

He smiled through the panting.

"McGee," Abby started.

"Hmm," he tried to prize his eyelids open but they were already too heavy.

"Can you reach your gun?"

"What?"

"Your gun, where is it?"

"In my jeans on the floor," he mumbled.

He felt her crawl off the bed and heard her lay it on his bedside table. "Can you reach it there?"

"Yes Abbs."

"Like, right now, I mean?"

"Yes. Could you turn off your light, it's hard to sleep?"

"Sleep!" she shrieked. "How could you even think of sleeping?"

"Because it's really late and I'm tired and someone just gave me a workout I'll never forget," he mumbled.

There was a click as the light was extinguished. Then began a long stream of conversation in which, it seemed, his direct involvement was unnecessary. She was restless: sitting, reclining, lying down, and bouncing on the bed all the while waving her arms wildly. There was something about wild passionate sex that seemed to give Abby renewed energy. It was not an experience he shared.

He was starting to get irritated. She was intruding on his introspection time and he had a lot to go over today what with the gassing, revelations about her love life and the home invasion. He did a quick calculation: weren't they sort of going out about a year ago. This was the guy that distracted her from him? No wonder she was embarrassed. Then his beloved typewriter: he needed time to grieve without her incessant chattering.

Guilt stomped down hard on him. She'd had a hard day too and this was just her way of coping. She was in a strange bed in a strange place. He should cut her some slack. Or at least have the courtesy to listen to her ranting.

He had a sensation of falling and an involuntary muscle spasm jerked through his body.

"McGee, stop sleeping!"

"Not sleeping," he managed to thread the words out of unco-operative lips.

"You so totally are!"

"Nooo..," it was meant to be a strong denial but it came out more like a whine.

They were the last words he heard before blessed, peaceful sleep claimed him. But not for long: something was irritating him; disturbing his hard-won sleep. He fumbled about for the TV remote on his bedside table to turn off the noise.

"I hope this isn't an example of your lightning fast super special agent reflexes, McGee," Abby complained.

"Get some sleep, Abbs," he said drowsily, realising belatedly that the remote was just not going to work on her no matter how much he tried.

"I can't," she screeched bouncing slightly on the bed.

"I'll shot you myself in a moment," he warned.

She paused just long enough for him to start drifting back towards sleep.

"I can't," she whispered.

He felt her snuggle up against his side pulling up the sheets around them and he rested his head on hers.

"You'll be fine," he assured her groggily before dropping off to sleep again.

* * *

Abby lay perfectly still in the darkness with her eyes wide open listening to McGee's deep, steady breathing, the occasional car outside, the creaking in the apartment and just about any noise that didn't equate to absolute stony silence.

She didn't honestly believe Michael would come back, not now McGee was here. Then she started to worry: if he did come back, would McGee react in time? She thought he probably would but she was never much for the damsel in distress scenario. She liked a bit more control over her own life than that. Specifically, she needed that gun.

She sank her head out from under McGee's and rose up on one elbow reaching over him with the other hand in the direction of the gun. Disturbed, he nuzzled her in his sleep. She froze, not daring to breathe, while he mumbled something incoherently and dropped back into a deeper sleep. Heaving a quiet, relived sigh, she reached out and grabbed his gun off the table. Settling back again she felt the cold metal in her hand. She practised what Ziva had shown her. Safety off, safety on, safety off, safety on, safety off…until she felt more secure.

She heard a sudden noise near the window and before she knew it, the gun had gone off in her hands. The bullet exploded out with surprising force pushing her against the pillows and hitting McGee's TV screen hanging on the wall in front of the bed dead center.

"Whoops," she winced. "What do you mean I always wreck your stuff?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for McGee's tirade. When nothing happened she carefully opened her eyes to judge his mood. He seemed to be still asleep. She bent down close to his face, his eyes were disco dancing under the lids and he had the little snore and puff of air thing going. Experience told her he was out for the night. He looked about 10 years old sometimes when he was sleeping, especially when he was all tuckered out from a hard night's ravishing.

An angry pulse jolted through her. How could he possibly protect her if he slept through a gunshot a foot from his head? She almost woke him to complain but then she stopped herself. She was more likely to live through the night if she didn't mention the TV screen. She might even have to distract him with another round of sex in the morning.

She guiltily put the safety on and placed the gun on her bedside table. Then she snuggled up to him again and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Abby woke with a start. She had been having dreams about being cornered by a large grizzly bear. There was a panicky moment when she realised she was, in fact, trapped and there was a large creature growling in her ear. Her eyes opened wide in fear. Then she recognised the room and relaxed. She was on her side in McGee's bed. The large thing immobilizing her was McGee's arm and the growling was the snoring. It all made perfect sense. There was a sweaty patch on the side of her face where his face was making contact with hers; he had probably been there for a while.

She lifted his leaden arm gently and slid out from underneath him. He didn't stir. A small smile of victory played across her lips. The bathroom was hers!

"Hey sleepy head," McGee roused slightly at the gravely voice. "Work time."

"Hmm?"

"Com'on," she bounced on the bed next to him almost giving him whiplash. "Up, up, up, up ,up!"

He took a deep breath, his eyes bleary but wide open.

"I see you've found the coffee then," he noted.

"Oh, yeah!"

"Give me 10 minutes," he mumbled heading for the bathroom.

He fumbled for the shower faucets, waited a few seconds and then stepped in. He gave a strangled shout: the water was cold. Acutely awake, he danced back out fighting off the monkeys on his shower curtain and they clung. He surveyed the position of the faucets: the looked fine. He cursed himself for sleeping in. He used to always get to the bathroom before she did otherwise she used up all the hot water. What happened to that subroutine? He was getting rusty.

He stepped back into the cold shower resolutely. After Gibbs found out about his night, a cold shower was going to be the least of his worries.

He stumbled out of the bathroom and searched for his clothes. The gun was missing and his head snapped to Abby's side of the bed. Sure enough it was on her bedside table. His eyes scanned the room searching for the damage. They came to rest on his TV screen. He heaved a resigned sigh and hoped the neighbours at the end of the trajectory were OK.

* * *

The elevator stopped at Abby's floor and McGee waited expectantly for her to move. Instead she stayed rooted to the spot.

"Ah, this is your stop, Abbs," he prompted.

"Oh, I'm not getting out of this elevator," she shook her head meaningfully.

"Um, why not?"

"Do you know how many people die in elevators every year?" she quizzed him.

"Ah, no," he admitted. "Why?"

"Almost none," she waved her arms at him as though she had made a point.

"So…," he prompted.

"So if I stay in here, I have almost no chance of dying," she concluded.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "Ok," he said finally. "If it makes you happy. Can I at least get out?"

"Oh sure," she smiled.

"See it doesn't matter if I die," he muttered.

The door slid open at the squad room floor. Nothing happened for a moment and then McGee cautiously poked his head out. Gibbs was nowhere in sight. Surreptitiously, he slunk out of the elevator and headed for his desk, hugging the contours of Tony's desk for protection. He was just about to sit down when he heard the voice of doom.

"What the hell happened!" he knew that Gibbs would know. He didn't know how but he knew. He turned to face his executioner.

"She forgot her toothbrush..," he started by means of explanation.

"So you had sex with her," Gibbs surmised. "After I expressly ordered you not too?"

"It was only for a mom…wait, no you didn't."

"It was implied, McGee. Did he get her?"

"No!" Then he deferred. "Well, yes, sort of, but I got back in time."

Gibbs reared up on him and removed his chair. "You will kneel," he said ominously, "and you will not rise for anything until you have that bastard. Do you understand me?"

Gibbs' face was precisely one inch from his own. He knew that because it was the point he just started to see cross eyed. He gulped.

"Yes sir."


End file.
